12/12/09

I grab the pen and pad as a solution, as a means to defend myself. But why must I be defended? Is my sense of guilt rectified? Is it justified? If it is, then me writing is a feeble attempt to lighten or dilute God's reasoning. It truly shows how lost I am. My compass is aimless. And without direction or conviction, I feel I'm wasting time; withering away. My everyday is bumpy. I've yet to establish my will as a constant. But true and accurate establishment requires intention, and an idea of who I am and who I want to be. Being mentally ill is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I think back, and sometimes, I wonder exactly how much of my life has been effected by it. Did it cause me and Kayla to split? How have I acted towards my friends? My family? I long for comfort and reassurance. My world is frigid and unpredictable.